"If I mistake not," he begins, "you'll find
Viscus not more, nor Varius, to yoar mind:
There's not a man can turn a verse so soon,
Or dance so nimbly when he hears a tune:
While, as for singing--ah! my forte is there:
Tigellius' self might envy me, I'll swear."

He paused for breath: I falteringly strike in:
"Have you a mother? have you kith or kin
To whom your life is precious?" "Not a soul:
My line's extinct: I have interred the whole."
O happy they! (so into thought I fell)
After life's endless babble they sleep well:
My turn is next: dispatch me: for the weird
Has come to pass which I so long have feared,
The fatal weird a Sabine beldame sung,
All in my nursery days, when life was young:
"No sword nor poison e'er shall take him off,
Nor gout, nor pleurisy, nor racking cough:
A babbling tongue shall kill him: let him fly
All talkers, as he wishes not to die."

We got to Vesta's temple, and the sun
Told us a quarter of the day was done.
It chanced he had a suit, and was bound fast
Either to make appearance or be cast.
"Step here a moment, if you love me." "Nay;
I know no law: 'twould hurt my health to stay:
And then, my call." "I'm doubting what to do,
Whether to give my lawsuit up or you.